


I'll Pay the Bill, You Taste the Wine

by melon_hearted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Schmoop, Sibling Incest, Unspecified Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7825543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melon_hearted/pseuds/melon_hearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with Dean tossing a suit jacket at your head. </p>
<p>“I’m taking you out,” he says gruffly, and such it's a strange order that you can’t help but obey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Pay the Bill, You Taste the Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Short and sweet little fic that's been floating around my brain (and hardrive) since circa 2011. I'm not caught up with SPN so apologies if this is completely out of line with where they're at lol. I just like to see the boys having a good time.
> 
> Title from "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" by Queen

It starts with Dean tossing a suit jacket at your head. 

“I’m taking you out,” he says gruffly, and such it's a strange order that you can’t help but obey.

So you go out to dinner with your brother. It’s a little strange. Dean keeps fussing with his shirtsleeves and darting glances at you from beneath his eyelashes. You don’t think it’s because he’s nervous— just a little out of his depth. The silverware jumps and rattles when the waitress brings you your drinks, in tune with the rhythmic jiggling of your leg. You’re a little out of your depth, too. 

You don’t talk much during dinner, but you both prefer it that way. The only time you’ve ever really need words to communicate is when something is wrong.

There’s no pie to be found in a place like this, so you don’t linger. Pinprick stars shine down on the frozen night, and brush everything with silver. Dean’s got his suit jacket slung over his left shoulder, defying the chill, though his breath streams out in clouds. You think how strange it is to see him a suit and _not_ walking out of a coroner’s office or a police station. It’s a change you could get used to.

You're almost back to the motel. Dean nudges you in the ribs and flashes you a brief, bright grin. _Good night, Sammy?_ he’s asking, without saying a word. You smile in return, and match your steps with his. 

It was. It really was.


End file.
